


normal human procedure

by ficfucker



Series: seduction through true crime - a dogtruth collection [3]
Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: Dominant dogmeat, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, as taken by MrsMegadrive, just your typical workplace handy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 03:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: ben asks and marcus indulges (finally)





	normal human procedure

**Author's Note:**

> anon noted on my last work that i never let ben shoot off... his time to shine i guess lol

Marcus juts his key into the hole, the teeth grating as they enter, but when he twists his wrist, it comes away loose and awkward. “What the fuck?” he asks in a whisper, shifting the coffee that’s nestled against his elbow, giving the knob a twist and push. It slides open easily. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Ben!” he yelps, shaking his head. 

Ben is sitting in his usual chair, long legs tucked into himself oddly, knees nearly to his chest, folded like a praying mantis. He gives Marcus a nod, doesn’t say anything. He’s wearing a light gray jacket, unzipped to show a graphic t-shirt with a bloodied Jason printed on the front. 

“First time in yer whole life you’re here early. Coulda given me warning, you know,” Marcus says, closing the door with his shoe, going over to the table to set his shit down: laptop, coffee, small clear-plastic bag of fudge he bought that morning, keys, headphones. His bookbag gets dropped to the floor with a quiet thud. 

“Yeah, well, we need to talk,” Ben says. It’s a firm tone, but it’s still Ben so it comes out soft, his eyes avoidant of Marcus, and that’s a tell. 

Marcus flops down in his chair, takes a long sip of his coffee. “Yeah? ‘Bout what?”

Ben makes a face, his eyebrows going together, and Marcus can’t help but think that he looks like a kid on the playground who’s just been told that Ring Around the Rosie is actually about the black death. Marcus would probably be the one relaying that information to him, given the scenario. It amuses him to consider. 

“About all the - all the, well, you know!” Ben flashes both palms up, a gesture meant to express “everything that’s been going on recently” and Marcus reads it clear as a bell. 

“All the…?” Marcus asks, knitting his brow together. It’s fun to play dumb with Ben, see how far the game can go until Ben reaches a tipping point, which is never anything more than a raised voice and great frustration. Marcus grabs his laptop, pops it open to check his email, maybe look over some forums he dips into for true crime updates. 

Ben huffs, scoots his chair closer to their shared desk. “Don’t make me say it, Marcus. It makes me feel like, I dunno- Like you’re Hannibal Lector and I’m Jodie Foster standing outside your prison cell.” 

Marcus raises his eyebrows, takes another sip from his coffee, and glances up from his laptop. “Yes, and? Bad comparison, Ben, you should know by this point that seems like a turn on to me.” 

Ben outright groans this time, puts his head in his hands. “The  _ sex _ , Marcus. Like hearing that? I’m talking about our-our…  _ necking _ , if you want to take it old school.” 

Marcus chitters, giggles into the rim of his cup. “Necking? They still call it that in Wisconsin?” 

“That is absolutely not the point right now-”

“Well, alright, get on with it then,” Marcus says, waving a hand. “Henry’s probably gonna call in about-” Marcus checks the time, “20 minutes or so, dependin’ on how hungover he is today. Our necking. Our sex. What do you need to get out?” 

Ben rolls his eyes and clears his throat, looking like a politician who’s been asked a tricky question. “There’s been… a theme with it, hasn’t there?” 

“Ben, I just told you to get on with it. Why all the questions?”

“Well, if you stopped answering  _ my _ questions with your  _ own _ questions, we wouldn’t have to be hamster wheeling right now.” 

Marcus smirks, encouraged to continue his cyclic method with the rise it’s getting out of Ben, but he lowers the wall, says, “Okay, fine, you’ve been seeing a theme. Tell me what it is.” Marcus figures if they’re going to do anything in the studio, they should get on with it before Henry calls, because despite all the rumors of Marcus being kinky as all get out, he’s not fond of the idea of Henry watching him and Ben. And he’s not one to delay a handjob longer than need be. 

“Yeah. A theme of uh, you being the one… You always get to get off and I’m left - high and drive every time!” 

Marcus nods, looks at Ben blankly. He waits a beat to see if Ben will continue, gently pushes his laptop closed so Ben will know he has Marcus’ full attention. “Tellin’ me you want me to get you off, Ben?” 

A blush creeps over Ben’s face, flushing pink, which will eventually deepen to a red, Marcus knows. “Yes! Absolutely! I shouldn’t have to be spelling it out like this for you.” Ben shakes his head. “Do you do this to everyone you mess around with or-or am I a special case? Blue balling me?” 

Marcus laughs, almost snorts, amused because Ben has hit the nail on the head: he’s a special case. Usually Marcus is giving and receptive, even with one night stands, attentive with his partner, but there’s something fun about stringing Ben out, beating around the bush and getting his rocks off and waiting to see if Ben will cycle back to him. Marcus is not overly sadistic. He’s just been waiting for Ben to ask it outright, not when drunk, not over text (which Ben has not even attempted, this interaction being their first, and mentally, Marcus credits him for that).

“Okay, so come over here,” Marcus says plainly, but a smile sneaks onto his lips. 

“What? Right now?”

Marcus nods and shrugs with one shoulder. “You want to cum so badly, get over here.” 

Ben makes a face, shocked, unsure, like at any moment, Marcus is going to shout “Surprise!” and the studio will be magically full of people ready to laugh at Ben, but he gets up and circles around the desk. He stands awkwardly, his arms by his side. 

Marcus looks up at Ben, ignores the warmth in his stomach, because of course, he’s got a role to play here. “Unzip your pants.” 

“There’s something very clinical in this, you know,” Ben says, almost complaining. His fingers hover over his fly which is about perfect eye level with the height Marcus is sitting. 

“Well, if you want to wait until I’m in the  _ mood _ , we can forget this and I’ll hand you the script and you can browse it over and pretend like your last night YouTube dive was genuine  _ research- _ ”

“Okay, okay, okay,  _ Jesus _ , Marcus, spare me all that,” Ben huffs, and he unzips his jeans so they hang open in two denim folds, his red boxers tented awkwardly. 

Up until now, Marcus has yet to see Ben like this in person, sometimes swapping grainy, flash-lit, drunk nudes on particularly lonely weekends, Marcus getting himself off in Ben’s company like Ben is just a pillow to hump, but never touching Ben skin to skin. He splays his palm flat to Ben’s arousal through his underwear, smirks when Ben breathes in through clenched teeth. 

“You can bring a chair over, you know,” Marcus says softly. 

“This feels like a fucked up doctors visit.” Ben reaches around blindly, lands a hand on a chair, and pulls it under him, sits with his thighs spread, and Marcus never loses grip on him. 

Marcus turns back to his laptop and opens it one handed, his other still squeezing Ben through the thin sheer of underwear, and says, “Oh. Is that your thing? Medfet or whatever they call it?” He sips his coffee, gives Ben a look to gauge his reaction, and it’s better than Marcus could ask for: one eye wrenched shut, face pulled funny, blushing a deep, burning red. 

“N-No... !” Ben sputters. “God, and this is - you’re sick, Marcus. Can’t you do this like a  _ normal _ human?” 

Marcus sweeps his eyes over Ben again, looking up from the lid of his coffee, and smirks, asks, “I’m touchin’ ya, aren’t I? Isn’t that what you wanted?” He dips his hand under the strap of Ben’s underwear and grips him fully, gathers precum from Ben’s slit using his thumb, and spreading it down his shaft, starts to jerk him lazily.

“Well, yes, but - y-you could at least give me the time of day while you do this,” Ben gripes, squirming ever so slightly under Marcus’ touch. 

“10:36 am right now. ‘Bout 14 minutes ‘till Henry usually Skypes us.” 

“You’re an asshole.” 

Marcus giggles, gives Ben a long, slow squeeze that gets him to huff. “Is this that famed Kissel dirty talk I’ve caught rumor of?” 

“If you want dirty talk, you can’t be half ignoring me over there,” Ben bites out. His cock throbs in Marcus’ hand, leaps as he speaks. 

So Marcus turns in his chair, sets his eyes on Ben with the cut of being under a microscope, and gives him an expectant look. “You have my attention, Ben,” he says, his tone dropping low, his radio voice kicking in. It’s partially an act, but to Marcus, a lot of sex with Ben is so far: the peacocking, the teasing he has to get into character for. 

Ben darts his eyes up to meet Marcus’, but he’s gotten good at ominous, silent stares between doing them naturally and all the times he’s been in makeup for The Cowmen, and Ben looks away quickly. “So the promise of dirty talk is what gets ya. Good to know.” 

“Get on with it, Ben.” Marcus twists his wrist and Ben exhales sharply, barely raises his hips off the chair like he’s going to thrust, but he lowers himself shakily. 

“What -?” Ben ghosts a laugh. “What do you even want me to be saying?” 

Marcus shrugs with the shoulder he’s not using, looks down at Ben, his pink cockhead peeking out from his underwear at certain strokes, glistening. “Whatever comes to mind, I suppose.” 

“Uh.” Ben swallows, makes a noise in the back of his throat. “It uh, feels good, Marcus.” 

“This is what you think dirty talk is?” 

Ben groans and blows air out of his mouth, shifts in his seat. “Well, I don’t  _ know _ what you  _ want _ from me.” 

“I want you to cum.” He pulls his hand away, to which Ben huffs and whines, spits into his palm, then goes right back to what he was doing, stroking Ben in long, even tugs, and with the new wetness, there are audible, slick squelches. 

“Oh, r-real polite. Your way of saying ‘get it over with’.” Ben wraps his thick fingers around Marcus’ slender wrist, like he’s scared Marcus will pull away again, even just to spit into his palm. 

“It was genuine. Cum for me, Ben.” His voice doesn’t change, still a drop deeper than his average speaking tone, but with no influx of emotion or desire. 

Ben sputters, makes a gasping noise, and he lifts his hips, pumps himself into Marcus’ fist, though still seeming weirdly shy over it, face all red, eyes shifting away. “S-See? That’s more like it. Why can’t you always - why aren’t you always like this?” 

“What? Telling you what to do?” 

Ben chokes, the corners of his mouth twitching. Marcus is tenting in his jeans and he makes a mental note to give Ben handys more often if this is going to be the result: panting and unhinged and weirdly submissive. “Y-Yeah,” Ben puffs. 

Marcus stops his movements, holds Ben’s cock just beneath the head, and smirks, delighted. “Oh, really?” 

“I thought you wanted me to - Henry’s gonna be calling any-”

“I know.” Marcus gets off his chair, kneels in front of Ben, says, “Just cum,” before wrapping his lips around Ben, takes about half of him into his mouth. He bobs his head, lavs his tongue over him, and Ben’s thighs tense. 

“Lord, Marcus…!” It sounds like Ben is seeing stars and his hand cups the back of his head, card through his stringy, dark hair, and Marcus hums, thinking about how nice it is feeling that: the whole back of his skull palmed so easily. It makes him think of Dahmer and his shrine. 

“Gonna… Marcus, I’m-” Ben cuts himself short, bottom lip in his teeth, and Marcus glances up at him, blue eyes round and starting to blur with tears, blinks his okay, and Ben cums, warmth flooding in Marcus’ mouth, and he swallows, listens to the heavy breathing above him. 

Ben pushes Marcus’ head back weakly and Marcus stands, looks at Ben who is crumpled and flushed. “Gonna go wash up,” Marcus says, and he steps away from Ben, opens the studio door with his left hand. The bathroom on their floor is empty and he adjusts his erection in his jeans so it’s not as obvious, washes up with cold water and foam soap. 

When he comes back into the room, Ben is zipped back up, looking less ruffled, and he’s returned to his usual seat. “Thank you,” Ben says softly as Marcus sits. 

Marcus quirks his eyebrows, smiles smally. He slips on his headphones and raises his coffee in a toast. “What are friends for?” He opens his little package of fudge and pops a piece into his mouth. 

A minute later, Skype starts pinging and buzzing and Marcus answers, greeted by, “Heyyy, fuckers! You’ll never believe what I fuckin’ saw when I was going to get a breakfast sandwich this morning.” 

Marcus smiles, rests his chin on the back of his hand. “Oh, I’m sure you can’t guess what happened here either.”

Ben, who looks alarmed, stares at Marcus, who just winks. 

“Yeah? Kissel finally get taken in for Sasquatch research?”

“Haha, good one, Henry.”

Marcus giggles and under the table, puts his hand on Ben’s knee. “Nope. Ben was  _ early _ this morning!”

“No shit? What’d he do? Sleep there for the night?” 

And so the ragging goes on as usual: Marcus: amused, Ben: defensive, Henry: pulling quips out of his quiver. Marcus rubs circles on Ben’s knee and while they record, he imagines all the wonderful new things him and Ben will be able to get into now that a door has been opened. 

####    
  


**Author's Note:**

> i dunno how long i'll keep these fics up but it's a series now 
> 
> drop suggestions if you dig it, send me death threats if you don't 
> 
> as always, hail yourself 
> 
> took all my fics off anonymous so talk to me on tmblr if you want @ficfucker


End file.
